


The Bard and the Blood Maiden

by Ecc0craft



Series: Tales of Skyrim [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bard Music, Drinking Games, Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Skyrim Upload, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Smut, No Dragons yet, Pre-Canon, Rorikstead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecc0craft/pseuds/Ecc0craft
Summary: Two adventurers meet in the Frostfruit inn and decide to have a friendly drinking game.





	The Bard and the Blood Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from Overwatch to have an adventure in Skyrim.

It was a cool summer’s eve in the harsh land of Skyrim, with the sun nearly set casting long black shadows in the dying orange light. Only a horse and a traveler bore witness to this scene as they rode into the town of Rorikstead. It was a small collection of buildings with most of the land taken up for farming. What interested the traveler, was a dry stable and an inn with warm beds and strong ale.

The rider left the horse in the stable, tossing a septum to a boy that was tending the other steeds. He accepted it eagerly but dared not look the traveler in the eye. For he knew who it was, there was no mistaking the coal black helm and armor, the enchanted ax at the hip, the jagged shield on the saddle and the thick haired cloak around the traveler’s shoulders. A smart lad was taught well to avoid offending the werewolf slayer of The Reach.

Inside the inn was starkly different than the somber mood outside. Nords were raising their tankards and merrily joking with each other. A lively melody was playing as drunks tried singing along to the lyrics of Ragnar the Red. Wenches swooned around a dark-haired bard with a lute, each competing for his attention. All stopped as the dark traveler stepped over the threshold, tall and imposing like a sentinel. The wenches gasped, one nearly collapsing onto the bard and forcing him to stop playing so he could catch her. A tabby Khajiit let out a low his, his ears pressing against his skull. Nords averted their eyes, going back to their drinks with nervous caution. 

The traveler shrugged off the night’s chill and removed the blackened helm. Underneath was a braid of ashen blonde hair and a pale face hard and weary from her journey. Elven blue eyes scanned the room for dangers and Orcish teeth bore for any unseen. Ignoring the onlookers, she tucked the helm under an arm and took a seat at a table in the corner. The wenches looked to each other in dismay as none wanted to be the one to approach her for her order.

“Who is that?” The bard’s voice broke the silence.

The innkeeper cleared his throat, taking a bottle of ale from the rack. “That, me boy, is Elishiva Half-Orcish also known as the werewolf slayer of The Reach. A legend around here.”

“Legend?”

The old man nodded. “Several years ago, an alpha werewolf stalked this village. He preyed on our livestock and abducted fair maids in the middle of the night.”

“That monster reeked havoc on our village until she came.” Said an old Breton mage. “She tracked the wolf to his lair and cut off his head with one swing of her ax. She now wears his pelt as a cloak.”

“She’s so strong, she once pulled a wagon full of people from here to Whiterun.” Exclaimed the innkeeper’s son, through a mouthful of leaks. “It’s true! My friend was there!”

“Is is said she gets her strength from her Orc father, rumored to be Malacath himself!” Slurred a drunken courier.

“That sounds like a load of Skeever shit, to me.” The Khajiit laughed skeptically.

“I heard her mother was a Nord maiden who was taken by a savage chieftain.” A blonde wench quivered. “He killed her husband and forced himself on her. The poor woman could not bear to care for the child that resulted from that union so she left her at a temple of Mara.”

“But the child was too wild for the priests!” Claimed another wench. “She killed a man before she had seen five winters and fled from the temple to join a gang of bandits!”

“She once killed a man for looking at her wrong, chopped him into pieces and fed him to a bear!” The innkeeper continued. “Before she was known as the werewolf slayer, folks called her the Blood Maiden.”

“She sounds like quite the woman.” The bard said with a purr to his voice. 

Elishiva heard him and turned to send a glare his way. The conquest of a bard was not something she was interested in becoming. Not to mention she was growing impatient with not being served. Her icy eyes met with his but he did not turn away in fear. Instead, a jester smile spread across his handsome face and a flutter danced in her stomach. She turned away with a huff, raising her nose to the ceiling.

“Two tankards of mead, please.” The bard grinned at the innkeeper. “One for me, and one for my new muse.”

The innkeeper looked at him like he was mad and the wenches all gasped in dismay but with a tankard in each hand, the bard walked confidently over to the blood maiden’s side. The Khajiit put a paw to his face and shook his head. “Your funeral, fool.”

“Hello, beautiful.” The bard greeted suavely. “Looking for some company? Entertainment perhaps?”

“Does that line ever work?” Elishiva grumbled coldly.

The bard took a moment to nurse his wounded pride. “Most women are already sold on the good looks and the beautiful voice.”

“I am not most women.” Elishiva glared at him with icy elven eyes.

“No...no you are not.” The bard said, sucking in a breath and studying her features reverently. “But would you care to join me for a drink?”

She regarded him a moment. He was clearly no warrior, no threat to her in any way. Handsome, clean shaven, with long raven hair tied back into a tail with two loose strands that swept over his boyish features. He had green eyes, large and alluring like two emerald pools. Not the worst company, the Blood maiden could ask for.

“It depends on what we’re drinking.” Elishiva said finally, her shoulders relaxing.

“Black-Briar mead, the reserves.” The bard smiled.

The top shelf, the expensive stuff. How could she refuse?

With a nod of her head, Elishiva gestured to a bench beside her. The bard took a seat and slid the tankard of mead to her. He took a sip of his first as if to encourage her. She didn’t need much more than that, downing the mead in one go and slamming the tankard on the wooden table.

“Shore’s beard…” The bard grinned, impressed.

“I am Elishiva, but you already heard that from the quivering patrons.” Elishiva grunted, cocking her head to the side. “Are you going to tell me your name, bard? Or do I need to make one up?”

“Hammond.” Said the bard. “But my fans call me Ham.”

“Ham?” Elishiva snorted. A truly unfortunate nickname.

“The emerald Jester in certain circles.” Ham chuckled. “In others, Just the fool.”

So, her feeling about a jester was true, Elishiva thought. “And what brings you to this village, Ham the fool? I have never seen you here before, your accent says you are not from Skyrim.”

“Beautiful and observant. In fact, I am an adventurer like you.” Ham replied, taking another drink. “I travel all across Tamriel with a merchant caravan. I make most of my living performing at inns like this one.”

“Why let me distract you from your work?” Elishiva raised a brow.

“I thought I was making my motives rather obvious.” the bard replied unashamed.

Elishiva huffed. “There are plenty of pretty wenches in this town. You seem to know your way around them.”

“They are pretty, yes, but none are as exotic as you. Nor as dangerous.” Ham said, waving the innkeeper over for more mead.

“You like dangerous, then?”Elishiva said with skepticism, bearing her sharpened lower teeth. He talked a big game but he looked like he hadn’t seen a fight in his life. 

Ham caught the doubt in her voice, lowering his own to force her to listen. “If I may be blunt, no woman can compare with a Legend. As a bard, I find nothing more seductive.”

Heat rose to the blood maiden’s cheeks, the charming fool had managed the impossible. “That’s not what most men say. Most are put off by the teeth.”

“I am not most men.” Ham leaned forward, echoing her words from before. “So, what do you say? Share a few drinks with me, share a few laughs and later my bed?”

Elishiva scoffed at his boldness but still found the offer enticing. It had been a long journey and even longer since she had a man, but giving the bard exactly what he wanted was not going to happen. At least not before she made him work for it. When the innkeeper came to fill up their drinks, she slammed a pouch of gold on the table and made the old man stop.

“I do not lay with just any man.” Elishiva stated. “All before you have been orcs and all had to prove themselves to me first.”

“How did they accomplish this?” Ham chuckled inquisitively.

“They had to best me in a fistfight.” Elishiva explained. “But for you, let us do something different.”

The bard flexed his arms and smirked. “Afraid I would win?”

“No.” Elishiva rolled her eyes at the Ludicrous statement. “I just see no reason to ruin those good looks with my fists. Instead I propose a drinking game.”

Ham’s green eyes lit up. “I like it.”

“Bring us your strongest ale.” Elishiva told the innkeeper as she tossed the pouch of gold into his hands. The old man left in a hurry and returned with several bottles of Argonian ale. The patrons around the bar had become curios and were forming a crowd. “Last one standing wins. You win, fool, and I will spend the night with you.”

“And if you win?” Ham inquired as he poured himself another tankard.

“I will tell you when that time comes.” The blood maiden smirked.

Ham smirked back and downed the strong ale in one go. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, Elishiva’s smug confidence slipped as the bard repeated the same motion. An experienced drinker, perhaps she had underestimated him. Though this development meant little, she would not let him win so easily. 

As they drank, they received cheers of encouragement from the others patrons. Who, had seemingly forgotten their fear and suspicion of the half-Orc. At least for the moment.

“You can do it Ham!” The wenches cheered. 

“Come on Blood Maiden! Show this Imperial milk drinker the strength of Skyrim!” Said a Nord.

“Put the woman in her place.” slurred the drunk.

“Orc woman! Humble this fool!” Said the Khajiit.

They went round for round until four bottles were empty. The innkeeper brought out a case of honey-brew mead next and that was gone even quicker.

“I think I have some whine in the cellar.” The old man said as he headed behind the counter. “It should make the game more interesting.”

While they waited for him to come back, Elishiva was beginning to enjoy the tipsiness the ale had brought her. “You know, another one of those ridiculous stories about me *hiccup* says I can drink a whole casket of ale before supper *hiccup* eat twelve steaks of roast venison *hiccup* eight roast pheasants and have another casket of ale to wash it down.”

“All tales are embellished! I should know.” Ham laughed out loud and rubbed his eye. “My *hiccup* brother would tell you I have more mead flowing through my veins than blood.”

“Here it is!” The innkeeper exclaimed as he returned with a shiny blue bottle. “Argonian blood whine. Got to give it to the lizard men, they know how to make a potent drink.”

He cracked open the bottle and poured them both a drink. The smell of the whine was so strong that it stung the inside of Elishiva’s nose. She took her time with this one, not wanting to waste the taste. Ham drank his too quickly and it hit him hard.

“By…*hiccup* Talos…” The bard slurred. “That is strong…” He put a hand on the table to steady himself and stared at Elishiva with quiet panic.

“Ha! Getting tired, Fool?” Elishiva snorted.

“No…” Ham hiccuped. He stood up straight in an attempt to save face. “Just lettuce catch up you…with me.”

Elishiva snorted but realized the bard was ahead of her in drinks. She’d have to finish her wine in order to tie with him. Looking into her half full tankard, she wasn’t sure she could. Nonsense! Of course, she could! She put the rim to her lips and gulped down the rest. The dizziness she felt was immediate but she still smirked at the bewildered face Ham made when another cup of wine was poured for them both.

“I do*hiccup*not think...” Elishiva slurred. “I do not think I can stand for much longer...the next cup will decide winner.”

“Aye...” The bard nodded drunkenly.

Ham seemed to concentrate more on his breathing, eyes going in and out of focus. He picked up the tankard, spilling a little as he tried lifting it to his lips. Before he took a drink, he set the cup back down, swaying in place. He sucked in air through his nose and let it out through his moth, shaking his head.

“Looks like someone isn’t getting lucky tonight.” The Khajiit teased. “Better luck next time.”

“Catching my breath...” Ham protested. “Game’s not ooover tilll one us on groumd.”

“Then finish it. Go on.” The Khajiit goaded.

Ham frowned, summoning up his determination and knocked back the cup of wine. Elishiva was impressed, the bard had spirit, no disputing that. The other patrons cheered his victory but it turned out to be pre-mature as Ham toppled over a moment later. The Khajiit erupted into laughter and pointed a finger while the wenches gasped. Elishiva laughed as well but dropped to her knees to help up her defeated opponent, and to swat away the other women from her prize.

After the game had finished many of the inn’s patrons cleared out, some a few septum richer since bets were placed on the winner. The rest of the evening’s entertainment was provided by Poyo the khajiit on his flute. Apparently, he and the bard were traveling companions and often performed together. Elishiva ordered a roast duck with a side of leaks for her supper and so she could sober up. Ham sobered up in his own way, disappearing outside for a stretch of time and returning with a potion in a small red bottle. Whatever it was, it managed to bring back his alertness if not help with the headache he was nursing.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Poyo scolded once he finished the last song of the night. “I had to perform solo and you didn’t even win.”

“You weren’t exactly cheering me on.” Ham groaned. “The night was not a total loss, I think this little story will be a big hit for a future act…once I exaggerate the number of drinks first…maybe I can turn it into a rhyme.”

“Ugg, bards.” Poyo huffed, rolling his eyes. “Have you no shame?”

“What would be the fun in that?” Ham smirked.

“Speaking of fun…” Elishiva cut in. “I believe I am owed something for besting you.”

The khajiit scampered away as soon as she appeared. “You’re on your own, Fool.”

“That’s right…” Ham agreed, rubbing his temples. “But you never told me what you wanted.”

Elishiva brought up a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from Ham’s face. “Well after buying all those drinks, I am running short on gold and can’t afford a room.” She traced his jaw, down his neck and chest. “You wouldn’t happen to know a place where I can stay, would you?”

The jester grin returned to Ham’s face. “I think I can help you with that.”

Elishiva wasn’t gentle in dragging the bard into his room after dinner. As soon a the wooden door shut, she pinned him against the wall and captured his lips with her own. She could still taste the wine on him and feel how soft his lips were in comparison to all her previous lovers. 

“Was this your plan all along?” Ham chuckled between breaths.

“Now is not the time for talking, fool.” Elishiva mumbled, kissing him harder, but still careful not to gore him with her teeth.

Ham grinned against her mouth, reciprocating the kiss and allowing her to begin undressing him. He struggled just enough to keep her distracted with his arms that she didn’t notice his legs wrap around her waist. Using the wall as an anchor he threw his weight forward and sent them both toppling to the floor. Elishiva let out a grunt when but didn’t protest the change in position. It made her insides burn that a man had even managed such a thing.

They landed with Ham on top this time, a position he used to unclasp the chain holding Elishiva’s cloak, and undo the leather straps of her gauntlets. With those off they were tossed in a corner with Ham’s clothes. The first thing she did after that was tangle her fingers in his dark hair and pull him in for another rough kiss. He kept his hands busy removing her breastplate and leggings.

Once she was free of cloth and steel, the bard would have had his way with her on the floor. As tempted as she was to let him, Elishiva was going to stay in charge. She used that fabled strength of hers to reverse their positions and pick him up. She tossed Ham onto the bed and claimed her prize for winning their game. Neither got much sleep, nor did anyone else staying at the inn according to Poyo’s angry knocking from the next room and his demands for them to keep it down. He was the only one so bold to complain.

Through her travels, Elishiva had trained her internal clock to wake her up before the first light of morning. Her eyes opened and she stretched her arms, yawning slightly as she glanced at Ham. He was awake, seated at a side table in only his undergarments and writing in a leather bound journal. He raised his head to acknowledge her and smiled.

“Good morning.” He said softly and gestured to a plate of cheese and apples. “Hungry?”

“What are you doing up so early?” Elishiva asked as she selected a red apple and a wedge of cheese. 

“Just some writing.” Ham yawned.

“Chronicling our eventful evening? Don’t leave out the juicy bits.” She said as she took a bite of the apple.

Ham chuckled, slightly more color filling his cheeks. “Afraid that kind of literature is not my forte. I am writing a song about you.”

“A song?”

“Yes, to be sung in taverns and to be passed down and remember like The chant of the nine, or The Dragonborn comes.” The bard explained. “Do you prefer a softer melody or a foot stomper?”

“Isn’t that your decision?” Elishiva asked, finishing her food and rising from the bed. The bard’s eyes lingered on her naked form before he answered.

“I’d like your input. How would a legend like to be remembered?”

Elishiva pulled on her tunic and boots. She’d not thought about that, sure she appreciated the notoriety that her deeds brought her but what the bard was suggesting was something more. Songs had a special way of leaving a mark on history. Did she even want that for herself with all she had done?

“I…I would want to be remembered as a warrior.” She said finally. “But not one just simply feared for her bloody deeds. Remembered as a warrior that enjoys good ale, the company of handsome bards and…well the adventure itself.”

“Elishiva, Elishiva mighty savior of The Reach. Slayer of werewolves and protector of all free folk. Foul in her fury but fair in her heart, lover of wine…and dirty of mind.” Ham smirked.

“It’s a start.” The blood maiden snorted. She fastened on her armor but couldn’t reach the straps in the back. She fumbled a few moments, grumbling at the inconvenience. “Could you…”

“Of corse.” Ham rose from his seat to assist her with the armor. He fastened them tightly before walking to the dresser to retrieve clean clothes.

In the meantime, Elishiva took one last moment to admire him. Something the tavern garments had hidden about Ham were the well defined muscles in his arms and back as well as a sizable burn scar that ran up his right leg and stomach. Clearly the bard had seen more action than Elishiva first presumed. From what she could gather, he was a ranger when he wasn’t performing in taverns. There was a Huntsman’s bow and a quiver full of arrows next to his lute and a forest green cloak hanging on the dresser. He also wore two steel daggers on his belt which he had cleverly hidden under a tavern apron. She hadn’t given much thought to them in the heat of passion the previous eve.

“Where will you go now?” Ham asked, putting on his tunic and breaking Elishiva’s trance.

“I am visiting a stronghold near Markarth.” Elishiva explained. “The forge wife there once knew my father.” 

“Father eh?”

Elishiva bit her tongue, realizing what she had said. Her dealings with other orcs was not really Ham’s business. She really couldn’t say what possessed her to share information so personal. Especially with all the nasty things the Nords said about her father.

Ham sensed her discomfort and grimaced apologetically. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to pry-”

“Just one thing I need to set straight for the story. It’s not true what they say about my father. My mother loved him very much.” When she was younger, Elishiva had burst into tears at the horrible lies the nords spread. At this point in her life she thought she had grown numb to it. “He was a good Chief…a good husband and father.”

Ham nodded understandingly. “Many never get to choose who tells their story. I shall attempt to set the record straight.”

Elishiva felt her chest tighten as she clipped on her cloak. “…but why do all this? I understand wanting a roll in the hay…”

“When I saw you, I saw a song. An artist needs a muse and you inspired me.” Ham explained. “It is only fair that I get the details right…Is there anything else I should add?”

“No, that was all.” Elishiva shook her head. She picked up her ax, strapping it to her hip and walking towards the door. “Songs take long to write? When can I look forward to hearing it?”

“Soonest, a month, If I can finish it and have it published. Latest a year...” Ham said, glancing at the journal. “The caravan is returning to Cyridiil soon and I won’t be back in Skyrim until next season.”

“Perhaps write of your own adventures in the meantime.” Elishiva suggested as she tucked her helm under her arm.“Adventuring is full of inspiration.”

The bard hummed almost nostalgically. “Indeed It is.”

Elishiva smiled softly. “Farewell, Ham the fool. May your roads lead you to good fortune.”

“Devines guide you, Elishiva.” Ham said resting a hand on her shoulder. “May we meet again.”

She leaned down, kissing him goodbye, before making for the exit. Outside, she found her horse, all brushed and fed by the stable boy. She reached under the saddle for her second pouch of gold and left it on the rack. The boy deserved it for a job well done. She lead her horse out, dawned her helm, and mounted. 

It was at least another day’s ride to the Stronghold and she wanted to make up for lost time. She turned the reins west and set a gallop, disappearing over the hills.


End file.
